


That Ass-poor Purified Dilithium

by AZ-5 (elim_garak)



Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Bajor miners could be featured in the future, Crack, Don't Read This, For now we're in the TNG and that's DS9, Forgive Me, I'm losing my mind so I'll stop tagging, If you never watched star trek, Multi, Star Trek Crack, because of course they manufactured the graphite channels along with number 2 pencils, because shcherbina and legasov as a joint Trill makes total sense (in my current state), romulans know everything, watch star trek, yes klingons could in fact have an institute of warp energy, you don't believe me?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 20:37:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20297587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elim_garak/pseuds/AZ-5
Summary: Based onWhere No Comrade Has Gone Beforeand written as a gift to the magnificent tenar_of_atuan of whose greatness I feel utterly unworthy.Quick peek, then:“But if the Legasov symbiont is the one who’s the RBMK engine specialist, wouldn’t it be easier to... Can’t we just bring him alone? It’d be a hell of a lot easier to transfer a Symbiont, who, I’ve been told, is nothing but a strawberry blonde narrow-sighted worm-like creature?”“I wish. That would make our lives a hell of a lot easier. Believe me, the last thing I want is to have to deal with Shcherbina. But you know how it is. They’re joint now. Remove the Legasov and they’ll both die.”“Fuck.”“I know.”“Can Legasov help us?”“He’s the only one who can. His host, Volkov, the one before Valery - he was there.”





	That Ass-poor Purified Dilithium

**Author's Note:**

  * For [2891](https://archiveofourown.org/users/2891/gifts), [Keiraskinder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keiraskinder/gifts), [AwariaSuit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwariaSuit/gifts).

> Words fail me. It's all in the story. I've never written crack before. Let alone ST crack. Luckily I'm an old and seasoned trekkie. Or else we would all be dead.
> 
> tenar_of_atuan - this one's for you, babe! You make my heart sing (not to mention you make my head think up crap like this).
> 
> Keiraskinder - because you're so sweet!
> 
> AwariaSuit - because yours was the first crack I ever read and I've been wanting to write one ever since
> 
> This is unbetaed. Because if I ask my best friend and editor to beta it she will shoot herself.

Meanwhile, seated in his office on a somewhat cloaked deep space intelligence station next to the window overlooking the mysterious vastness of the Neutral Zone, Admiral Charkov is reasonably worried.

Truth be told, being worried is part of the job description. A little over three hundred and sixty years old (and that’s in dog years), officially affiliated with the Soviet Starfleet Central Command while … uhm… somewhat _ less _ officially known as head of the Soviet version of the Obsidian Order, aka the feared Section 31of the KGB, he wouldn’t have made it this far were he in the habit of dismissing potentially harmful for the state security pieces of information as simple rumors.

Especially those spread by the Ferengi.

He can’t help but feel increasingly on edge. Something is stirring. Something that could threaten the very foundation of the institution he is sworn to protect. 

“Has he talked yet?” he asks in a low, gravelly bass, without bothering to look at the man seated across the desk from him.

“Who? The Ferengi?”

“No, my dead Volcan grandfather, Luzhkov. Yes, the Ferengi.”

“Uhm, yes sir. He talked. Sooner than we expected, actually. Problem is…”

Seeing how the senior investigator seems to have troubles getting out the rest of his statement, the admiral swings in his chair, all but spearing the fidgeting young man with his narrowed, dark eyes.

“Problem is…?” he encourages with a soft smile as his right hand comes to rest oh-so-casually on the Romulan Disruptor on his desk. 

It’s set to disintegrate, a fact of which, judging by the spasmodic jolt of Luzhkov’s adam’s apple, he is _ painfully _aware.

“Sir…” the investigator gasps. “The problem wasn’t so much getting the prisoner to talk as it was…”

“What? For fuck’s sake, Luzhkov, are you _ trying _ to give me an aneurism?”

A voice in Luzhkov’s head: _ “Well…” _

While out loud:

“...as it was getting him to shut the fuck up.” Long pause. “...sir.”

Charkov muttered a long string of curses, among which Luzhkov could identify at least _ three _ different languages from around the Beta Quadrant, and angrily dropped the disruptor, causing Luzhkov to recoil and, instinctively, shift his body weight further away.

“Of course. Fucking Ferengi. Well? Did he say anything of consequence?”

“Of consequence? No. Funny you should mention that, though.”

“..?”  
  
“He claimed…” Clearing throat: “...he _ offered, _ in exchange for his freedom, to provide the Section with the information of certain illegal trade agreements that, according to him, have been in place for quite some time now. He even offered to name some of the involved. Particularly, a certain high ranking…” More clearing of throat: “...federation official. In fact, I believe the word he used to… _ describe _ that man was _ ‘inconsequential’.” _

_ I know that federation official, _ Charkov thinks, grinning wickedly. _ Been looking for a bit of leverage with that sonofabitch for fifteen dog years now. This could be useful. _

Out loud: “What else?”

“Sir?”

“What else did he say?”

“Well, sir, as I said, many things.”

“About the _ test, _ you moron. What did he say about the _ test? _ Do they know?”

“The Ferengi, sir?”

Charkov is beginning to lose his patience. “No, you moron. The Romulans. The Tal Shiar. Do they know we’re running a test?”

“Uhm…”

“You idiots. You didn’t even _ ask, _ did you? Finally, we get our hands on someone who’s been overheard yappin’ about the most sensitive test of our warp engines in _ decades _ and you’re telling me that after three days of interrogation you don’t even know who else he’s been talking to?”

“We did try, sir. Problem was…”

Charkov rolls his eyes, speaking in a mocking tone. “..._ having him to shut the fuck up?” _

“Yes, sir. But—”

More mocking tone: _ “But?” _

“He did say something about a trip to Bajor.”

Charkov’s heart falls as his eyes narrow. 

“Bajor, you say?”

“Yes, sir. Is that… could that be… significant?”

God, he’s surrounded by morons. Charkov rises, feeling his whole life unravel in front of his eyes. They are doomed. They are all doomed. 

“Well, comrade Luzhkov, you tell me. Bajorans are miners. A lot of them are, anyway. After the occupation, a lot of them privatized the mines that were abandoned by the Cardassians. And you know what they mine in those mines, Luzhkov?”

“I don’t believe that I do, sir.”

“Graphite, Luzhkov. They mine graphite. Lots and lots of graphite. Do you know what we use graphite for?”

“Pencils, sir?”

“No, you moron. Well, yes. But you know what else we manufacture on the same factories where we make number 2 pencils?”

“..?”

Huffing in exasperation: “Warp drive niecells, you idiot. The reaction… Obviously, I don't know much about the RBMK warp drive. But I know we use graphite in our cores to moderate the dilithium flux.”

It begins to sink in. The blood drains from Luzhkov’s face.

“The test!” he exclaims. “USS Chernobyl Reactor 4! This could be a sabotage! We should warn them at once!”

“Jee, you _ think?!” _ Already on the secret subspace line, Charkov falls heavily back in his chair. “What a nightmare.”

Just as the line is about to connect, though, an incoming call precedes it.

He listens intently, nodding on occasion, feeling his heart sink to the bottom of his shoes as, for the first time in two hundred dog years as the head of the Committee, his hands begin to shake uncontrollably.

“Thank you, sir. Of course. We’ll begin the search immediately. I’ll supervise myself. Government committee? But of course. Right away. Yes, sir. I will keep you posted.”

The line goes dead. 

“Who was that?” Luzhkov inquires charrily.

“Gorbachev.”

“The head of Starfleet himself?”

“Please, continue stating the perfectly obvious. You know how that pleases me,” growls Charkov, rising from his seat once more.

“Is something the matter, sir?”

“It’s gone,” Charkov says, his mind racing with more possibilities that he cares to admit, while his eyes are fixed on an invisible dot in the middle distance of the Neutral Zone. “USS Chernobyl Reactor 4. The test… something went horribly wrong. And it’s gone.”

“Gone, sir? Where?”

He doesn’t dignify the stupid question with an answer, still staring blankly off into space. 

“Get me Legasov on the phone.”

“Legasov, sir? You don’t mean… Academician Legasov? But he’s…”

“No, moron. I mean _ the _ Legasov. The Trill. Formerly Valery Legasov, now Shcherbina Legasov.”

“How…?”

“It’s a long story. There’s been an accident. There was no other trill host in proximity. Valery was dying. They had to transfer the Legasov Symbiont into another body or it would die. Shcherbina was in _ no _ way a candidate. In fact, they never even got along. But we didn’t have a choice. Now they’re joint. For life.”

“But if the Legasov symbiont is the one who’s the RBMK engine specialist, wouldn’t it be easier to... Can’t we just bring him alone? It’d be a hell of a lot easier to transfer a Symbiont, who, I’ve been told, is nothing but a strawberry blonde narrow-sighted worm-like creature?”

“I wish. That would make our lives _ a hell of a lot _ easier. Believe me, the _ last _ thing I want is to have to deal with Shcherbina. But you know how it is. They’re joint now. Remove the Legasov and they’ll both die.”

“Fuck.”

“I know.”

“Can Legasov help us?”

“He’s the only one who can. His host, Volkov, the one before Valery - he was there.”

“When the drive was constructed?”

“No. Much… _ much… _ earlier. He was on the USS Leningrad.” Seeing his colleagues confusion, Charkov shakes his head. “It was before your time. A secret mission. The first prototype of the RBMK engine. There was a problem. We thought it got fixed. Obviously, it didn’t.”

“A problem, sir?”

Charkov’s mind is already three steps ahead. “The Ferengi. We’ll need to know who he sold the graphite to.”

“Why?”

“We don’t just use graphite as a moderator, Luzhkov.”

“Oh?”

“The brakes. We use graphite to lace the brakes to make for smoother performance and decrease the possibility of dampening the engine efficiency.”

“Graphite on the brakes? Why?”

“It’s cheaper than rubber.”

“You don’t think…” Luzhkov’s blood turns into ice.

Charkov sighs. But before he can say anything, a Romulan warbird - none other than the legendary T’Met, the _ D'deridex _-class monstrosity of the Tal Shiar - decloaks starboard to his office window. 

The line shrieks, and a smug face of the head of the Tal Shiar appears on the com screen.

“There’s no point in denying it. The Klingon Institute of Warp energy has detected the signature of your warp drive. They’ve identified that Ass-poor purified dilithium you use in your cores as the source of contamination. We know about the test.”

And, just like that, the worst nightmare of his life is on.

  



End file.
